Zero Hour

Consciousness. Sudden. Absolute. The sector was quiet. A dark void at my back, solid ground beneath my boots. Both hands were already locked onto twin composite grips, barrels raised and ready for engagement. Standard protocol. A deliberate, confident grin stretched across my jaw. My right knuckles flexed against the textured handle. It moved. The weight answered to my own command. I dipped the right barrel a fraction of an inch to test the balance, then snapped it back to high ready. Every sensor sharp. The watch has commenced.